


Lovebite

by generals_best



Series: I can't write drabbles so this is what happens [1]
Category: Sharpe - All Media Types, Show the Colours (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/generals_best/pseuds/generals_best
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It can get searingly hot in the Spanish peninsula.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovebite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [le_russe_satan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/le_russe_satan/gifts).



> A little something that arose some years ago from an LJ drabble-meme. The request was Brandon/Hunter with the promt "lovebite". The characters are from the Napoleonic RPG "Show The Colours". George Hunter belongs to le_russe-satan, Col. Brandon is based on Jane Austen's "Sense & Sensibility" but I took the liberty to create my own vesion of him. He is an ADC to Wellington who in turn is losely based on the "Sharpe" series.
> 
> So, this was supposed to be a drabble... only, I suck at drabbles. -.-

******

It was one of those broodingly hot midsummer days you only seem to get in the Peninsula. When the sun is a white glowing ball of heat in an ashen sky that burns the already torrid land mercilessly. Arthur Wellesley hates those days. They make everything immobile and force one to be idle - and nothing good ever came of idleness.  
So he tries to focus on the papers on his desk as a means to occupy himself without running the risk of complete physical exhaustion. However, at the moment he is more likely to lose patience than anything else. 

“By God, Brandon, lose that jacket or stop fidgeting at once!” he snaps at the man without even looking up from his work. 

“Sir...” Brandon turns as red as said jacket. “I rather not.”

Arthur sighs exasperatedly. “Seriously, Brandon, no man in his right mind wears that much in such a heat. I am already down to my shirtsleeves so I see no point why you shouldn't be also. Now, take it off.” He looks at his Aide-de-Camp with a questioningly raised eyebrow and an icy scowl. “Or do you need me to make that an order?”

“I... no, Sir.” Brandon looks stricken but complies. 

He watches amusedly as Brandon takes off his jacket and as the officer turns to put the jacket over his chair's back he finds the cause for the man's obvious embarrassment: there, at the edge of the neatly tied cravat are the purple signs of a love bite. He has to suppress a gasp at the images that invade his mind immediately: a blond head bent to the Lieutenant-Colonel's neck, exposed in abundance, luscious lips sucking at the soft skin...  
He swallows as he realises he is staring and has to fight to keep his nonchalance as he turns back to his work. 

“Get Hunter to attend dinner at the officer's mess tonight.” His voice is as unattached as always. “And that **is** an order!” 

Only the additional beads of sweat on his forehead could betray his state. And all of a sudden Sir Arthur Wellesley is grateful for that hot summer's day.


End file.
